


To Make a Marriage

by Anonymous



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, First Time After Rape, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rape Recovery, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22677895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: For the Witcher kink meme prompt:When Jaskier was still a teenager, he was forced into an arranged marriage. He ran away before the wedding, changed his name to Jaskier, and started trying to make his way as a bard (and had only been one for a few weeks when he met Geralt)Cut to years later and Jaskier's fiance has come to collect his spouse, whether he wants to come with him or not.It's a *bit* different, as I wound up with a timeline that puts Jaskier on his own a little longer before he meets Geralt, but I hope it's enough of what you'd hoped for!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Character(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 414
Collections: Anonymous, Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	1. A Good Man is Hard to Find

As the days have gone, it's a pleasant one. They'll reach the next town by nightfall, according to Geralt, even if they take a little extra time resting Roach. They've found a good stream where she can drink, and he and Geralt are spread out in the dappled shade at the edge of a wood, the grass soft and sweet-smelling beneath them, and...

And there are things he thinks one of them might say, soon. They know each other so well, they've traveled together enough in the ten years or so they've been acquainted. After the last job Geralt had taken, Jaskier had composed a new verse for him, while tending to his injuries and washing and combing the gore from his hair. Once he was cleaned up, the injuries hadn't been bad-- at this point on their journey, Jaskier doubts he still feels them. He's learning not to be so bothered, now that he knows how well Geralt heals, but he still feels for him. He still finds himself tracing over a spot that had been badly bruised, through Geralt's shirt. 

"What are you thinking about?" Geralt asks, though Jaskier suspects that he knows.

"You. Are you really all healed already?"

"See for yourself." He says, and he doesn't make a move to show him, so Jaskier braves inching his shirt higher. He doesn't know why he should feel so shy, he's seen the man naked. He's helped him bathe and treated his wounds, and rubbed various balms and liniments into his chest, his thighs, his _ass_. Somehow this moment feels different, this invitation. 

There's a hint of a bruise, much lighter and smaller than what it was, and Geralt doesn't flinch at having it touched, though he might if Jaskier pressed against it, not that he would. Satisfied, he tugs the shirt back down, though he does it just as slowly as he'd lifted it, watching the skin disappear. He's startled, when Geralt catches him by the wrist, but before he can ask if he's done wrong, he catches the look in his eyes, the uncertainty and the _heat_. 

"Jaskier..."

"Yes."

The moment stretches for what feels like a very pleasant little eternity, and he'd be happy for it to stretch a few more before whatever main event is to come, but before either of them can make a move, they're interrupted, Geralt tensing at the sound of approaching hoofbeats before Jaskier even hears them. 

It's quite a procession, he expects it might pass them by, off the road as they are, but instead one of the riders leaves the road and rides straight up to them. 

"Looking for me?" Geralt rises to his feet. "I thought I'd taken all the jobs to be had before we left town."

"Julian Alfred Pankratz?" The man doesn't even look at Geralt, but past him to where Jaskier is still lounging in the grass. "I heard tell you were in the company of a witcher, but I could not believe it, without seeing for myself."

"You must be mistaken--" Geralt begins.

"Who's looking?" Jaskier scrambles up to his own feet, only so that he can press closer to Geralt. He has a terrible feeling he needn't ask. There's something familiar, even these years later, in the man before them. 

"Baron Leks Wojcik." He swings himself down from the saddle to approach them. "But you remember me, don't you?"

Jaskier's grip on Geralt's arm is white-knuckled. He remembers Wojcik... he remembers him as a youth of twenty, coarse and arrogant. Handsome, certainly, big and tall and strong, theoretically he was the kind of man whose bed Jaskier would have enjoyed. When he was first promised to him, as neither family had a daughter with which to form an alliance, and as neither youth had strong preferences where sex was concerned, he'd been excited. The barony had sent a picture, his parents had sent one back, and while the families ironed out political details, Jaskier had daydreamed about the sort of man his husband would be. He hadn't stopped flirting with young ladies just because he was affianced, of course, but then he had assumed his husband to be wasn't sitting around on his ass waiting, either. Better to come to the marriage bed with some sort of experience, even if it wasn't quite the right sort.

He was seventeen, when the Wojciks arrived and he met his bridegroom for the first time. All of his dreams turned to ash in a single night. As final preparations were made, he'd felt an awful fear. Though he knew it would be trouble for everyone, what was he supposed to do but flee? He'd taken his horse when he'd first left, he'd had to sell her rather early on in his journey. When he first rode off with one bag of clothes, what little money he could scrape together, and his lute on his back, he hadn't had a plan. That first dawn alone, he named himself Jaskier, and decided he would be a bard. 

Well... the job took some time to grow into. Poverty took some adjusting to. But then Geralt came into his life, and both their fates were changed for the better. Geralt had his reputation stitched back together into something finer than any witcher had ever had before, and Jaskier had his muse. And for a moment it seemed as if they both might have more.

"How did you find me?" He asks, the anguish seeping into his voice. He would hide it from Wojcik, who does not deserve his emotions, but there's no hiding it from Geralt...

"You wouldn't believe how many charlatans I had to go to before I found a mage whose divination could lead me to you. But I finally found one who was selling more than a pack of lies. One who told me you rode with a witcher. And where I should search for you. You may wonder why I would go to such trouble for such an unfaithful, troublesome little wretch, but you see... when something is promised to me, that something ought to be _mine_. So I promised your poor parents that I would find you. But now that I have... well. You'd do well to come back with me."

"He's not going anywhere with you." Geralt says, shifting his weight slightly, and placing himself a little more firmly between Wojcik and Jaskier. 

"You can fight me, Witcher, but even you can't fight your way through all my men. When I heard my 'bride' had taken to traveling in your company, I thought about the company I might keep. I daresay we're more than a match for you. And no one wants to see your precious 'Jaskier' bruised in the fray." Wojcik reaches past Geralt, grabbing Jaskier's chin. 

It seems to take everything Geralt has, not to teach him a very painful lesson for it. Jaskier had felt the tremor run down his arm before he'd even noticed Wojcik reach for him. 

"Remove your hand from him." Geralt says, his voice low. "Or you will be dead before your men reach me."

Wojcik laughs, releasing Jaskier roughly and stepping back. He whistles to his men, and they dismount to gather around him-- around all of them. Hands rest on sword hilts, though no one draws his weapon.

"Now that you are found, you have two choices. Return home and fulfill your familial duty... or run away, but know that this time, your family will suffer for your childish display. We showed them mercy, over the flight of a boy. But you're a man now, your choices carry weight. And things have changed back home. You may have rank on your side, but we have real power. If a marriage cannot get me what I want, a show of force will. Think that over, _Jaskier_. I'll even give you a week to make your choice. At the end of that week, either you will join me for my triumphant ride back to Lettenhove and our wedding preparations... or we ride alone and the people you were meant to protect will be the ones to suffer for your failure to your duty."

With that, he signals to his men, and they all mount their horses, taking to the road again, in the direction of the nearby town. The town Jaskier had been traveling towards with Geralt, though now there's no course of action that doesn't leave him sick to his stomach, including something so simple as continuing their ride and finding a room in an inn.

"Jaskier..." Geralt's hand is warm and careful at his shoulder. Were he facing any simple threat to his own safety, the comfort he could take in that touch... but Wojcik rode out with trained men, armed and armored. Enough of them for even a witcher to stand down. He'd known... he'd wanted to be sure there would be no protecting him.

"I had thought he would forget me." He folds himself in against Geralt's chest, his voice breaking. "Move on, marry another. How could he want me, after ten years? How could he care enough to track me down? I was nothing then. If I had thought he could be looking for me still, I--"

"It's all right." Geralt's arm wraps around him, one hand strokes through his hair as if gentling a horse.

"I can't... I can't let him... He means to do it. If I don't go with him, he _will_ attack my family. Not just them, but... our lands, the people who trust them for protection. He'll make the whole of Lettenhove suffer. He wouldn't make a threat he couldn't follow through on. Long as it's been since I've known him, I remember. I remember he was cruel... but he was careful. And vindictive. He wants control over the viscounty. But he'll destroy what he can't have."

"He has no real love for you."

"I doubt he has any real love for anyone."

"I mean... we'll ride with him to Lettenhove. _We_ will. There will be some speeches, and documents to sign. He'll have whatever house and lands might have been yours, and the freedom to move a mistress or a lover into his bed, and you'll... You and I..."

"What will you and I do?" Jaskier noses into the curve of Geralt's neck, breathing in the road-worn scent of him. Sweat and leather and green grass. Geralt's hand is curled around the back of his neck now, soft.

"Go wherever you like. Anywhere on the continent. I can find work wherever we go." He pats at Jaskier-- Jaskier can only assume in a way he thinks is comforting. It isn't, but Geralt is, just all of him, just his being there. "And you. There are audiences everywhere. He wants the marriage for what it can bring him, but if you never cared for all of that... you can give it to him, and you can be free. We can."

"You won't mind traveling with a married man?"

Geralt snorts, and nuzzles at his temple. "No. Not if it's you. I'll go with you to the ends of the world."


	2. Chapter 2

There's no point in drawing it out a week, Jaskier supposes. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible. Still, he spends as much of the day as he dares staying there in their spot by the creek and the road, lying in Geralt's arms.

They don't really acknowledge the things half-said. They don't really do anything more than this, stretched out in the half-shade together, holding onto each other. No words of love, no kisses traded. He still feels braver for being able to lean on him. For having the promise of a future at his side. Somewhere far, far away from his boorish fiance. Boorish husband. Unorthodox, a political marriage between two men, but not completely unheard of. One of them would be expected to produce an heir by a mistress, but then, they were both expected to take mistresses anyway-- the fact that they both liked men as well as women had been a personal bonus at the time of the marriage's making, not a requirement. Political marriages and sexual compatibility, it didn't matter the sexes of the people involved, you were lucky if you liked your spouse enough not to take a lover. Had he remained home and done his duty in the first place, Jaskier would have been the one expected to give the heir-- any offspring of his, due to his rank, would be in line to inherit before Wojcik's, regardless of birth order. But with Jaskier gone, Wojcik could do as he pleased, move in his mistress of choice, and pass the viscounty and barony down as he pleased to whatever issue he pleased. He could split them between children or keep the lands united under a single heir, and it wouldn't _really_ matter, not to Jaskier, not to the people who lived there.

Well... Wojcik's no man to have to live under, but he wasn't foolhardy enough to bring misery on his own people, lest they rise up and put his head on a pike or his reach exceed his grasp and a rival unseat him. He would learn to limit the scope of his cruelty, so as not to upset the balance of power. He'd certainly have enough of it, with their combined lands under his singular control.

They ride into town, when the sun begins to dip low, Jaskier leaning back against Geralt's chest, head on his shoulder. Geralt's hands are on the reins, arms around him, but every now and again he transfers Roach's reins to a single hand, so that he can squeeze Jaskier's hip, or run fingers through the front of his hair, pushing it back from his eyes, or so that he can spread his hand wide over Jaskier's chest.

"Julian, hm?" He breaks the silence at last, but there's no censure, no hurt, no upset. Hard to sound upset about the name issue, when he's pushing his face into Jaskier's like a big cat.

"Once. But Jaskier suits me, don't you think?"

"Jaskier suits you." Geralt says, and Jaskier can hear that faint smile in his voice. "Better than any other name could."

"You see, only I could be trusted to name me." He says, and relaxes at the warm chuff of amusement to blow across his cheek.

They reach the town late in the evening, and yet all too soon. Wojcik is there, in the inn's tavern, surrounded by his men as they eat and drink. Jaskier can't bear to be looked at, the way Wojcik looks at him, the subtle mockery and the possession in it.

"Decided already, have you?" He calls out.

"We can make for Lettenhove in the morning." Jaskier answers, grateful for the weight of Geralt's hand upon his shoulder, the nearness of him. Especially when Wojcik leaves his table, stalking over to them.

"Your family's people will thank you, I'm sure." He reaches for Jaskier's face, but this time Geralt blocks his hand.

"Before your men can reach us." He reminds him, barely above a whisper. "He will sign over the lands to you if that is what you want, but he is not yours."

"Is he yours?" A laugh, of all things-- Jaskier doesn't think he's ever known someone to be so un-intimidated by Geralt and his... Geralt-ness. His witcher-ness. "Not for long."

"He is no one's. But I _will_ protect him on the ride to Lettenhove."

"Why do I think allowing you to safeguard my bridegroom's virtue is like asking a wolf to guard my henhouse? I see where you stand, Witcher. And until Lettenhove, you may growl and snap all you like. It shall amuse me to take him from you at journey's end, and nothing you may do about it."

Jaskier does _not_ like the sound of that. He presses closer to Geralt, and tries desperately to take some comfort in the strong arm that wraps around him. He has little appetite, though Geralt urges him to eat. He manages a little, and what will keep, Geralt wraps for later. What won't, he finishes, before they take a room.

"You heard him. He will _delight_ in taking me from you!" Jaskier says, pacing the room in agitation.

"He didn't say 'delight', he said it would amuse him. And so what?" Geralt's hands land on his shoulders, stopping him mid-stride. "Many men, when they get a little power, like to flex it by making another kneel. A witcher's not immune to the whims of men with power-- far from it. I could fill this inn with nobles who thought it _amusing_ to take something rightfully mine and dangle it over my head to see if I would jump for it, to deny me payment or to hold me against my will in hopes of seeing me squirm. When he tires of playing this game with you, we can go as we planned... He'll have what he wants and punishing you will lose its sparkle in the face of everything else he'll have to deal with. And taunting a man who doesn't react doesn't stay fun for many."

Well, Jaskier isn't surprised Geralt's usual plan is to simply not react when taunted... but every time Wojcik reaches for Jaskier, Geralt _does_ react. So what that means for them... But Geralt wouldn't let harm come to him. He'd fight impossible odds if Jaskier was in real danger, he does believe that. He would barter his own life if he thought it was any use. Even before they were _friends_ , that first time they were captured together, Geralt had only begged for Jaskier's release, accepting his own fate. How much more would he do, now that they're... this? This as-yet-undefined but clearly quite intimate thing?

Only, the last thing Jaskier wants is for Geralt to sacrifice himself like that.

They slide into bed together, they each have their own side, a comfortable routine established over nights of sharing rooms when space or poverty demanded, and laying their bedrolls out side-by-side when there are no rooms to be had on the road. This time, though, Geralt tugs Jaskier in to lie against him, safe in his arms.

"Sleep." He orders, in a low rumble that sends an as-yet-undefined sort of thrill coursing through Jaskier. Not the sort of thrill that keeps him from sleep, not when he has other things to keep him from sleep, but a thrill nonetheless.

He hums to soothe himself, when sleep won't come. It's a tune that he's toyed with, something new and unfinished, and Geralt gives a 'hmm' at it but doesn't complain. After a while, it does the trick, and Jaskier is able to drift off to sleep, the sound of a half-hummed song dying on his lips.

He doesn't get all the rest he needs, for the journey ahead. Despite Geralt's urging, he doesn't eat enough to keep his strength up. He trusts Geralt to keep him on the horse, and he'd rather let himself be exhausted than have to be fully awake and thinking about his fate. Whatever Wojcik plans, he knows it's meant to make them suffer. For all of Geralt's cynicism, he doesn't know Wojcik, he hasn't seen him. He thinks he's like every other noble, egotistical and power-hungry and cruel in a distant way, not a personal one. Jaskier once witnessed Wojcik tormenting a chambermaid, not simply because he could and it amused him, but because she had failed in some small way which he deemed punishable. And because he could, and it amused him. But it was a punishment first, one he only exacted when he knew he could get away with doing so, given he was in another man's house and she was another man's chambermaid.

When they set off with the group heading for Lettenhove, Jaskier wishes he could ride backwards, or sideways, slung over Geralt's lap-- such as any man in a saddle could be said to have a lap-- and cradled in his arms, and able to lean into him and smell the musk of him. He could lean into him, yes, backwards. It isn't the same. It lacks an intimacy, and it's intimacy which he craves, which Geralt gives him in ways he knows how, halting and hard-won and precious.

Wojcik rides hard, or means to, but he's forced to go by Geralt's pace, which only further fuels his anger. Geralt stops for Roach's sake, and for Jaskier's, and each time Wojcik calls his men to a halt and they wait until Geralt deems things fine. Then they take off again, riding hard. Even with Geralt's care, by the time they reach Lettenhove, Jaskier is in poor shape with worry, and the fanfare that greets his return only makes him feel fainter and less at ease. It is good to see his parents, or it would be under other circumstances, he thinks. His gratitude for Geralt is renewed with near to every breath he takes, as wedding preparations are made around him, as he is barely consulted on anything. He is grateful also to know it will take time to put things in order.

When his mother questions where they can put a witcher, Jaskier finally finds his voice at full strength and his mind at full capacity to operate-- he insists Geralt remain at his side, being as he is acting as his bodyguard, before such an important wedding. It is for the best, perhaps, that they do not hear the sarcasm in that last bit, but they do consent to Geralt acting as a bodyguard and remaining at Jaskier's side until the wedding. They do order up a bath for him, immediately, and extend a wary trust when Jaskier says he does have fine enough clothes for Geralt to wear.

"I've seen those clothes, they won't think so highly of them." Geralt says, as they finally find themselves alone in Jaskier's rooms. There's a steaming bath waiting there and Geralt is stripping down to use it, and this is familiar territory at least, safe territory. Even if they can't embark upon the love affair they desire in a time such as this, there's one thing Jaskier knows he can have, no complaints and no ulterior motives.

"They're fine enough for a bodyguard. And if they want you to wear something finer for the wedding, then they can pay for it."

"... You bought clothes for me." Geralt says, as if it's news. "You paid for them. You gave a tailor near enough to my measurements, and paid for them... how did you afford it?"

"Lucky, I guess." He smiles, stripping out of his own shirt as Geralt sinks into the tub with a groan. He dips an arm into the tub, swishing the water around a little.

"You did all that--"

"For my sake as much as for yours."

"The clothes fit me."

"Well..." Jaskier's smile grows warmer, as he lets his hand slide up Geralt's chest.

For all that Geralt has been nearly courtly in his chasteness with him, since Wojcik's appearance, they have this. They're both comfortable with it, Jaskier's hands kneading at sore muscle, or gliding over soap-slick skin he's lathered up. His touch is confident, and Geralt accepts it with ease. When the bathwater has been changed out, Geralt even returns the favor, and if this is what becoming lovers can be like, Jaskier likes it. They'll figure out how the sex will be in time, but they know how to be at ease with each other's bodies just the same, and this reminder of the fact makes it all seem so easy to bear. He wants to fill the days leading up to his unwanted wedding with baths, with massages, with naps in the sun sprawled out together in a cozy heap, and meals taken with their elbows and knees knocking companionably together.

But all too soon comes the day his wedding suit is laid out for him, the day Geralt dresses him with deliberate hands and heavy heart. No matter how easy he makes it, he knows his husband-to-be will find a way of making them suffer, for the years he spent searching and for the fact that he wasn't simply allowed to drag Jaskier off.

"Whatever comes... Geralt-- we haven't said, but--"

"Hush, I know."

"I love only you."

Geralt's hand cups his cheek, Geralt's arm comes up around him, a too-brief moment before he must escort him to the waiting wedding party, where he will be expected to disappear into the background, his services no longer required.

"Jaskier... I know. And I you. This changes nothing for us. I know your heart."

He presses closer with a shudder, and focuses on the feel of being held so, but he knows it can't last.


End file.
